Spanish
by ScarlettLikesUmbrellas
Summary: Lestrade turns out to have hidden a certain talent from Mycroft, which results in Mycroft 'punishing' him... Written to fill a prompt by mopeylopey1 on Tumblr. Tags; NSFW, mystrade, porn, smut, graphic, dom!Mycroft.


**A.N- Written as a giftfic for mopeylopey1 on Tumblr, to fill her prompt. Basically the whole plot was her idea! I thank her for waiting all this time for me to write this, and for being a wonderful person! And that goes to everyone reading this also. **

Mycroft Holmes stepped out of the door of his sleek black car being held out for him by his chauffeur. He nodded and gave a weak smile as thanks towards the familiar and smartly-dressed man; he was far too tired and dry-mouthed from talking all day at work he really couldn't sum up another word. His mind felt devoid of letters, it was almost as if he had used all of his vocabulary up. It could be hard holding his 'minor' position in the British government, even if you _were _Mycroft Holmes. All he wanted was to just get in and _sleep._

He heard the car gently pull away behind him as he made his way through the door to his flats; the door was a beautiful thick oak door, complete with a gilded metal knocker, fitting with the sublime quality architecture of the rest of the building; they were possibly the most expensive flats in London. What less could you expect with Mycroft's income from his 'minor' position?

A few minutes later Mycroft found himself inside his home, barely having noticed the series of keys and lifts it took to get there- it was done so many times in every day, and he was pretty much only half-awake, he may as well have sleepwalked his way there.

Suddenly there were arms around him, and Gregory's voice in his ear asking him how his day was, as soothing fingers massaged across his shoulders, neck and through his hair. Mycroft moaned and melted into the blissful touch. It took him a while to realise a minor detail, though, a minor detail that was…

'¿Qué? (What?)' Mycroft suddenly asked, pulling away in shock. _That _woke him up. '¿¡Hablas español!? (You speak Spanish?!)'_How on earth had he not managed to deduce? _Mycroft could deduce _anything _and _everything, _with deductive talents surpassing even his younger brothers. And yet here he was, caught in shock (for possibly one of the only times in his life) because it turns out that his _boyfriend, _the person that he was with _day and night _had managed to hide an entire second language from him. Mycroft began to get more irritated than surprised as the idea sank in.

'Sí, sí (yes, yes)' Lestrade said gently, pulling Mycroft back into his arms. Mycroft's mind was too caught up in itself and too busy to mind what happened to his body so he just allowed it. Lestrade could see this through Mycroft's expression; his tired eyes looked sharp, his lips were mouthing ever so slightly as thoughts raced through his brilliant mind. But Lestrade wanted Mycroft to just _relax. _He could tell Mycroft's annoyance at failing to deduce; it was eerily like his younger brothers behaviour. He had just wanted to surprise his loved one tonight by cooking something Spanish while greeting him in the language.

'¿Ves la television? (Watch the television?) ' Lestrade asked, running his fingers through Mycroft's hair, and then walking over to switch it on. Mycroft simply flopped himself onto the sofa, sighed and looked through the channels.

'La comida española está casi lista. (the Spanish food is nearly done)' Mycroft heard Lestrade call from the kitchen.

'La comida española? (Spanish food?)'

'Sí, ¿te gusta? (Yes, do you like it?)'

'Sí (yes)' Mycroft replied, giving up. He switched the channel over to BBC Parliament out of habit, but then switched it back to BBC One. For this once, he really couldn't be bothered with work. As he half-watched the telly, he began to realise…Lestrade speaking Spanish…made him feel…well, it wasn't jealousy, because _he _could speak Spanish himself, it more made him feel…

…turned on.

He imagined it, pinning Lestrade to the ground, whispering sweet and dark things into his ear in the gorgeous foreign language…

…and Lestrade understanding _every last word._

Mycroft licked his lips…Lestrade would pay for hiding this talent from him.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Lestrade looked across at Mycroft from the dinner table. It appeared that dinner had gone down well- better than he had expected it too, actually, for he had been expecting to deal with Mycroft's sulking for the rest of the evening- but no. Not once, not even once, had Mycroft managed to display any signs of annoyance.

_Well, he could be hiding it, _Lestrade thought to himself, as he knew all too well his lovers extreme abilities at hiding his emotions, to the point where he could outwit even Sherlock's deductions. But, if Mycroft really was still annoyed at his deductive failure, he probably would have intentionally displayed this annoyance anyway as revenge and a scheme of getting his way.

Well, at least this was what Lestrade thought up until the next moment.

For, with no warning _whatsoever…_

_..._Lestrade suddenly found himself being pinned onto the kitchen side.

Mycroft was on top of him, telling him the things he would do to him, and demanding the praise he wanted to hear, and what he wanted to receive back…

In _Spanish._

'Uhh…Mycroft…' Lestrade moaned, struggling in the uncomfortable grip.

'Domitorio? (Bedroom)?' Mycroft asked, in that soft, seductive voice of his; though a dominant and demanding lover, Mycroft is very gentle, and would always stop if asked to; he is very careful and soft in his actions, usually prolonging them to the point where he would have Lestrade practically begging for him- just like he is in life, powerful yet elusive.

'Si,' Lestrade whispered, lips parted as he panted from arousal, eyes shining bright, reflecting the romantically low light setting and the strongly burning flames of the candles, and looking directly into Mycroft's own gorgeously pale ones; both with pupils diluted almost wildly.

A moment after this word was uttered, the two men scrabbled from their positions and almost ran through the gorgeous corridors, decorated with the priciest of antiques and furniture, and soon enough Lestrade was on his back again; this time being pinned onto the super-king sized designer bed, with Mycroft's lips and tongue hungrily invading his own, as he kissed back and massaged shaking fingers encouragingly through Mycroft's hair; causing the politician to moan into his mouth, deepening the kiss if that were at all possible.

The detective inspector could feel Mycroft's arousal against his own- he groaned in pleasure as Mycroft grinded against him, teasing and making him throb in pleasure with the hot friction. Lestrade began to writhe against the bed-sheets in shear desperation; he was almost whimpering with his want and need for more, _more…_

It was obvious from Mycroft's expression that he was enjoying this power; he looked satisfied, occasionally gritting his teeth to bite back moans that were almost succeeding at escaping his well-trained lips, and his eyes were looking directly into Lestrade's, clearly enjoying the look of desperation and pleasure the other man was displaying.

'M-Mycroft…._bloody hell, please,' _Lestrade groaned between pants, and gritted teeth; it was a surprise that his words were actually audible at this point- obviously, by now, he had subconsciously reverted back to English, which Mycroft played along with.

'Only if you say sorry,' Mycroft said almost neutrally; though his voice and expression quivered with the excitement and desperation he too was feeling- he would hold back until Lestrade said sorry, or else he would lose some of the glorious power he currently possessed.

'Sor-uh!,' Lestrade managed between pants, but even then he couldn't finish; speaking was becoming more and more of a total impossibility as Mycroft began to grind against him harder; the heat and friction increasing alarmingly.

'Tell me that you're sorry, for, mm, hiding it from me, _mmm_, _Gregory,_' Mycroft moaned the others man's name as a random wave of sensation caused him to shake and shiver all over, weakening him and filling him with pleasure.

'Mycroooft. No. stop. I mean. Start. **arrgh,**' Lestrade practically growled in frustration, and each word he managed to utter was between pants. 'Bloody. Hell. sorr…ry!'

'Mmm, that's better darling,' Mycroft smiled smugly at the detective inspector beneath him; he was desperate, oh so desperate, arching his back, jaw clenched….ugh, that gorgeous jaw….Mycroft couldn't hold back any longer, and he feared that his Gregory would probably come here and now even if he could manage to. And _that _wouldn't be appropriate, oh no, that would be very disappointing…

And so Mycroft manoeuvred their positions (Lestrade was in _far _too much of a state to even speak, let alone move beyond bucking and arching his hips by this point, which was _fine _with Mycroft, oh lord yes), so as the D.I's legs were over his shoulders, back against the rich Egyptian cotton sheets, Mycroft's eager length pressing against his opening.

Mycroft pushed one of his fingers into Lestrade's lips, who barely seemed to care nor notice, as a form of lubricant before gently pushing into the other man, feeling the tight wall of muscle contract around his digit as he hit Lestrade's prostate and made him _moan, oh how he moaned._

Soon enough the government official was placing his own eagerly throbbing length into the tight, wet inside of the detective inspector, feeling it close in around him as he pumped, meticulously slowly, making sure to _grind _against his lover's prostate, causing them to both moan and cry out as if the louder they were the harder they would come. Mycroft, just at the right time, wrapped his elegant fingers around the other man's length, and began to pump hard, in time with himself.

And, just after then, the two came with the loudest of moans; long held back sensations washed over them, filling them with pleasure, and relief, causing Mycroft to groan even after coming as warm liquid was splayed across his flesh once, twice, three times.

Lestrade clenched his jaw and threw his head back as he was filled with Mycroft's warm, sweet seed; the beautiful sensation soothed him and almost overwhelmed him with bliss.

Mycroft could feel himself throbbing, and almost bucked his hips each time another wave of sensual pleasure washed over him, going right from his groin to fill the rest of his body.

Lestrade felt Mycroft basically collapse on top of him, panting like he'd just run a million miles. He stretched an aching arm over his lover's back, and contracted his fingers in and out on the other man's flesh in a soothing motion.

'You are so gorgeous, Gregory,' he huskily whispered, still panting. 'And I forgive you- as a matter of a fact, I forgave you a long time ago, but, if I told you that, it would be no fun, would it?'

Lestrade could hear the cunning grin through his lover's voice, and replied with-

'Bastard.'

'I love you too.'

Lestrade laughed, and soon enough so did Mycroft; they laughed until they ran out of energy to do so (which wasn't very long at all), and then shared a passionate, deep kiss, full of their strongly burning love for each other. The British government and the detective inspector.

And so, the two men lay together in the comforting, warm darkness, sharing each other's body heat, breathing in sync as their chests were pressed together, just basking in the soothing sound of each other's deepening breathing.


End file.
